Return to Rose Red
by Keebo
Summary: The survivors are once again drawn to the horror that is Rose Red... but things have changed, and this time, the house desires only one thing... revenge. Please R&R.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

  
  
Emery Waterman stared at the green stem against his black glove, a constant reminder of the horror that had been Rose Red. Red like blood. Red like madness... like fury. The pain of his lost fingers was all but gone, but the feeling lingered. When he closed his eyes at night he returned to the castle. Trapped. Bleeding. Demons with eyes of red. Rose red...   
  
"Mom..." The crimson flower landed at his feet on the ground. Remembrance. Regardless of the person she had turned him into, and the thing that she had become, that strong connection between mother and child had not faded.   
  
He glanced upward and could have sworn he saw a flash of white in the tower. 'Not there.' He shook his head. It was gone, but the sense of being watched remained.   
  
Usually, the survivors of the Rose Red incident visited the castle together or in pairs. No one wanted to take the risk of being drawn in again, but Emery was confident in his powers, which he had recently gained full control of. Of course, he wasn't half as powerful as he *had* been... in that house. What was horrific reality to everyone else was merely a nightmare to him.   
  
He had only been a child when his psychic powers had first made an appearance. He and his mother had just moved to a new house, which he had taken great pleasure in exploring. Upon entering one of the rooms, he had been taken aback. The paint was peeling off of the walls. Furniture from centuries ago occupied much of the space. Then he had felt a large, cold hand on his shoulder.   
  
He had spun around, only to see the horrific face of something... someone... that was either inhuman or without life. The thing... man... before him had been dressed in the finest of clothes, but they, too, were obviously from another time. The entrance and exit to the room were blocked by his bulky presence. Being only 8 and very, very afraid, the young psychic had rushed over to a corner of the room and promptly curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, his arms around his knees. The person had not approached him, choosing instead to stand in place and observe.   
  
"Not there..." Young Emery's voice rang out over the room, over and over, as he tried to convince himself of his mindless mantra. "Not there not there not there..." Then he had felt something... a kind of freedom... and upon opening his eyes, he had discovered that the creature and the peeling walls were gone.   
  
In later years he was found to be post-cognitive, a skill that few wanted and many feared. Fortunately, as he grew from a young boy into a chubby, odd man, thanks to his mother, he grew accustomed to his 'gift' and learned to use his own will to 'send' the demons that haunted him. Yes, life had been relatively good when he had received the call about Rose Red.   
  
Oh, what he would give now to have heeded the warnings and refused the venture. Yet, would he be half the man he was now without Rose Red? What would life be like back under the control of his overbearing mother? What if he had never met Annie? What if he had killed her? There were answers to those questions that he didn't wish to acknowledge.   
  
And so, sighing and glancing up at the tower for the final time, he turned and made for his car. It wasn't one of those flashy sports vehicles, but it was nice. Something his mother would never have allowed him to have. He paused for a moment in the awkwardness of holding the wheel with 6 fingers, but quickly accustomed himself to it once more and backed the car out past the gates. Those fingers had been a small price to pay for his new life.   
  
No one saw the rose as it wilted, its brilliant red fading to an ugly brown. No one noticed the shrouded white figure in the window of the castle, watching as the large man left. The house wanted him... and it would have him yet...   
  
-----   
  
_ Author's Note: Not terribly long, but it's a start. Ahhh... what brought this on? Well, I just sat down and started writing... and this is what came out. Odd, I know, and I'm not sure where I'm headed with it... but it's kind of interesting. Obviously, I'm taking several liberties with the storyline. May take a while for me to post another part... but look for the other survivors to make their appearances soon enough... :) Comments? _  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

  
  
Ever since Rose Red, Steve Rimbauer had hated the darkness.   
  
No, not the darkness... Just what the darkness symbolized. Shadows, things lurking just beyond his peripheral vision, and that horrible feeling that it wasn't over yet, that he would awaken one night to find that his feet had carried him back to that house against his will. Then he would build and build until he was sapped of every bit of life he had left, and they would all laugh, Ellen and Joyce and Nick, all of them. How foolish to think that he could escape that easily.   
  
When a person loses an appendage, they have phantom pains and itches. When a person loses a lover, they're left with a phantom touch. On many nights, Steve could've sworn that he had felt her... high and mighty Joyce Reardon... her cold, dead hand on his skin, her icy breath on his neck. On other nights he had awakened, not knowing what had pulled him from sleep, and yanked the blankets from the bed to stare at that empty space beside him.   
  
When sleep was impossible, he went for long walks through the neighborhood, in well lit areas. He was certain that his late-night journeys would appear strange to others, but he didn't care. All that mattered was clearing his mind and assuring himself that he had power over his life and his actions... not Ellen Rimbauer... not Rose Red.   
  
-But this night felt different somehow. Steve had felt more than just an eerie presence... more than just fear... He had felt an urgency. Something, a gut-instinct, perhaps, was telling him to get outside, fast. So he had gone, with nothing but his robe and boxers on. He hadn't locked the door behind him, but his neighborhood wasn't known for crime, and although he didn't know why he needed to be outside, he felt that he had to get there quickly.   
  
It was exactly 3 AM when he met Rachel "Sister" Wheaton under the streetlight outside, pale, her hair a mess, her beautiful eyes and somber expression telling of her pain and distress. She had been on her way to his door.   
  
They stared at each other for a moment, perhaps wondering what strange coincidence had brought them to each other on such an ominous night, before they embraced. It had been weeks since they had seen each other, but even that small amount of time had seemed long and lonely.   
  
Rachel clung to him for a moment before backing away, looking into his eyes with such sadness that he felt his heart ache... felt his fear rise at the impending announcement, which she was barely able to say without sobbing.   
  
"Annie's sick."   
  
-----   
  
_ Author's Note: I know that it's been a terribly long time since I've written more of this. I'm so sorry! @_@ I never expected it to be so popular or so well-received. I have to say that, if not for your wonderful reviews, I may have never gotten inspired again... I'd like to thank one reviewer in particular right now, L.McGonagall, who kindly reminded me that I needed to get back to work. ^_^ Thanks a lot!   
  
Expect to see longer chapters in the future. The first few will be short, as I set the stage, but they'll be longer as I settle into the story a bit more. Also, to those of you who want to see more of your favorite characters, I'm planning on giving them all a time to shine, so hang in there. ^_- Thanks again, and expect the next chapter to be written in (hopefully) a more timely manner._   
  
  
  



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